


Pas de prix

by PaperFox (IceWeasel)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Music, Alternative Universe-Human, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley is a Sweetheart (Good Omens), Crowley is a musician, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Fluff and Angst, Gabriel is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Gabriel is nice, Human AU, M/M, Musicians, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possibly Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25566841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceWeasel/pseuds/PaperFox
Summary: Alone, friendless and without money in his pocket, Anthony Crowley feels he is close to hitting bottom, if not already.He needs help, he needs money and, above all, he needs someone or solitude alone will end him; but with his rusty social skills and little to offer but the notes of a worn violin, Crowley can do no more than rely on luck.Gabriel, in the other hand, has had a past full of music, but now, there's not music that he could bring himself to hear,until he meets Crowley.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Gabriel (Good Omens), Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ah,hello! Thanks for passing by. I hope you enjoy this little fic. There will be a lot of stuff going here, and is intended to be kinda slow in pace about relationships. Also excuse any mistake or typo, english isn't my first lenguage.  
> And by the way, here you can read this fic in spanish: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25253935/chapters/61221382

Since a young age Anthony Crowley learned how to get what he wanted, and for get what he wanted,he had to learn to treat people, being sociable was a great advantage when you had little money in your pocket. He never saw it as a disadvantage, he could never imagine a scenario where it was a negative aspect. But now it was: Alone in a big city where he has only lived for a couple of months, without friends and with a “job” (if it could be called that) where he couldn't even use his social skills: most people just ignored him and ignored him.

When the money quickly ran out, Crowley had no choice but to drop out his music studies; the reason why he had originally moved to the city. Without previous works experience, it was difficult for him to maintain or even get a good steady job. Returning home with his parents wasn’t even subject to discussion.

But that did not mean that he had been wrong or had failed; not yet. He couldn't think about failure, instead he devised a plan of sorts that perhaps bordered a bit on fantasy and depended on more luck than anything else, but it was better than falling into despair; anything is better than despair.

And so, one fine day, without much thought, he went out into the street, looked for a good spot in the park and started playing his violin. If just by mere luck a musician, a talent scout, a representative, or even just a music teacher passed by and listened enough and recognized his talent, perhaps his life would become brighter. That had not happened yet, and for the moment, he was just concentrating on the day's earnings, hopefully enough just for dinner, he would find a new excuse to pay off his debts.

The park was not a very good site: Too open, the sad notes of the violin were lost in the breeze, there were people playing with their dogs, children running and people exercising with their own "playlists" prepared for the routine. No, no one would stop to listen to the melody of his violin.

The next day he tried next to the entrance of a Mall, it turned out better than the park, but there was no dinner either.

And after a week, he found he was doing better at the train station. There, people had to wait for the train and therefore, they had to listen to what they had to play. He was still ignored, but he was sure that his music affected people without them realizing it. If the train was too late, Crowley would play a calm and relaxing piece to allay people's frustration and in return, he would receive more generous amounts of money ... Or at least, he wanted to believe it was that, a retribution and not a coincidence.

In time he got used to the station, and the station to him; the days passed and it did not seem that someone relevant in the world of music recognized his talent, but he did not think about it. Anthony woke up everyday thinking that someone important would miraculously passed by that day and would love his music and make him a proposal that he could not reject. And it wasn't so bad anyway, yes, he had to sell various items and yes, he had to pawn several jewels and a toaster, and yes, he had started an unnecessary diet, but it could be worse.

There was something else that bothered him. He tried to ignore it, but it became more and more insistent until it began to affect his music; only sad, heavy, melancholic melodies came from his violin ... just what he felt. Loneliness weighed on him, and being ignored by most people only made it worse. No one spoke to him at the station, if they looked at him, it was as if they were watching a radio, not a person. His desire to have someone made Crowley begin to give more and more attention to people who didn’t give attention to him: He tried to talk more with the one who collected the rent, with the janitor of the building where he lived, with the neighbors every time he saw them in the hallway, and finally he began to memorize the people who came to wait for the train every day.

It's not as if he at least knew their names, but that made him more familiar. Assuming why each person took the train, distinguishing who worked and who was a student ... Gathering small data about the people around him gave him more comfort.

One day, someone came, someone new, someone Crowley did not recognize on his list of “strangers that I see all the days”. The man after walking there and there around the station and having bought a train ticket, stopped right in front of him with his hands in his jacket pockets and looked at him closely. Crowley would definitely remember if anyone came up and paid such attention to him.

Suddenly, he was in the need to give his best, he wanted to impress this new face. Whether he succeeded or not was impossible to know. The man's face was neutral and expressionless, but he stayed in place listening, and that encouraged Crowley even more to play like an expert.

And then the train the man was waiting for arrived and he just left.

And without leaving money.

Crowley felt offended. He groaned and bit his lip to suppress the desire to insult him.

It's not like he doesn't have money, he should have, isn't it? After all, he was dressed as if he had just stepped out of a name-brand clothing store. Spotless white shoes, lavender tie and jacket, neatly groomed hair. A watch that was surely a rolex ... Everything about him said high class.

Anthony felt a slight lump in his throat when he realized two things: First, he felt a slight envy; the stranger was undoubtedly successful in his life and could say that his age was around Crowley's, which made him feel somehow behind, as if he were losing a race.  
Second, that he kept thinking about the stranger two hours after he was gone.

And kept doing it. He created scenarios in his mind where perhaps if he had played one or another piece he would have left him money.  
Maybe he would have shook his hand.

Maybe introduce himself.

At noon, as usual, Crowley left the station to go to a nearby bakery and order a lunch. Even during his meal, he found himself thinking about what had happened that morning, he wondered if he would see him again that afternoon and if he would stop and watch him again.

"You're so lonely that you can't stop thinking about a stranger who paid more attention to you than normal," he told himself before taking a bite out of his sandwich.

Still, Anthony found himself slightly hoping.

The man, just as impeccable as he was in the morning, seemed to pass by Crowley and his music, but then stopped and turned to pay attention. Anthony could see that he was wearing a tired and somewhat frustrated expression this time: work, he thought as he once again tried to impress the stranger with an extravagant piece.

When the piece was almost finished, the man received a call which he answered immediately and left the station.

Again without leaving money.

Crowley stomped on the ground like a little boy.

Seriously?!

Of course, no one paid any attention to his tantrum.

...

Picking up his earnings of the day, he gave a half smile. With or without the stranger's money, that day had been very productive. Maybe it had to do with how hard he had tried to impress him.

On the way home, Crowley wondered if the stranger would return to the station tomorrow. He also thought about how curious it was to refer to him as the stranger, after all, they all were.

He would give him a nickname to distinguish him from the others.

Rich guy seemed like a good nickname. At the station there were more people who seemed to be in a good financial position, but this one stood out.

The rich guy came back the next day and the next and the next ... He always paid special attention to Crowley, but no more than that. Anthony began to appreciate his mere attention, after all, it was more than the others were giving to him. Time was a precious thing.

Still, it seemed exasperating to him that if he caught his attention so much, that if his music entertained him so much, why he wouldn't even leave a damn piece of gum?

But he did not lose hope that one day he would leave him good money, or that he would say something to him.

The words seemed more valuable to him than money, at least if the words came from him. He wondered what kind of voice he would have, whenever he answered a call, Crowley could not hear him ... surely his voice was low and indifferent.

And bossy, he was a rich and bossy guy, he thought. It wouldn't surprise him that if one day he opened his mouth to speak to him, it would be to ask him for a specific song.

He would definitely dislike him. If they knew each other, perhaps they would not bear each other. And oh boy, how Crowley wanted to meet him.

The redhead had already almost forgotten his hope that a person with influences in the music world would listen to him. Now he wondered if this was the day where he would impress the man enough to make him react beyond just listening to his music for a while.

He wondered if it was normal to set goals of that style. After all, why did he want to impress an unknown dude in a boring and ordinary train station?

A rich dude, of course.

A rich and handsome dude, too.

A handsome, wealthy dude like him surely had his life settled, unlike Crowley.

Surely he had a girlfriend.

A rich and bossy girlfriend too.

If so, Crowley hoped he was the one to tell him.

And that also told him why he always stops to listen to the sad and desperate notes on his violin if he wasn't even going to leave a damned coin.

…

One cold and gray April day, life seemed to mock him. In the morning there was only a light drizzle, Anthony almost made fun of the people who took the trouble to bring an umbrella to protect themselves from a light drizzle like that, among those people the rich guy.

He cursed to himself when the drizzle had turned into a torrential and incessant rain by afternoon.

People getting off the afternoon train rushed to leave the scene to get home soon and escape the rain as quickly as possible. The noise made by the drops crashing into the station ceiling made impossible for his violin to be hear. It was silly to stay longer.

He sheltered himself as best he could and inhaled deeply before stepping out of the station; the rain immediately soaked into his bones and he nearly jumped back. He took a minute to shake himself up a bit and decided to use his violin case over his head to protect himself a bit before continuing.

He didn't take two steps in the rain when someone handed him an umbrella.

He looked up. There was the rich guy, next to him offering him an umbrella; his face unreadable and neutral as always. He said nothing.

"I prefer money, thanks," Crowley said wryly.

The man blinked a few times; it was obvious that he expected any other answer but that. Then he gave a half smile.

“Look at it in this way: Money won't protect you from rain and possible pneumonia, the umbrella does”

For the first time he heard his voice: it was softer and more cordial than he had imagined.

“Look at it in this way: With money I can afford a taxi that will drop me off right outside my door”

The man raised an eyebrow trying to guess if Crowley was serious, he seemed puzzled that they rejected his kind gesture.

"I guess you don’t accept checks," he replied jokingly.

Crowley finally took the umbrella and smiled at him.

“Do I have a banker's face?” He glanced down the street; the rain was harsh, “What about you?”

He shrugged, put the briefcase on the floor, buttoned his jacket up to his neck, picked up the briefcase, and hid his free hand in a pocket.

"Well, at least I'm warmer," and started walking. Before leaving he looked over his shoulder at Crowley “If you want money that much, you can sell the umbrella” and smiled.

It was a charming smile. An angel smile.

Anthony watched him leave almost running to get away from the rain. As soon as he realized that the moment he had waited for had arrived and he had not even used it well, he went after him.

"Hey!" He shouted loudly, the rain muffling almost all the noise. "What's your name?!”

The man turned around with some doubt in his expression. Despite not having been in the rain for long, he was already soaked and his perfect hairstyle ruined.

“Gabriel”

He turned his back and continued on his way.

Crowley did the same and went to his department.

"Gabriel ..." he repeated to himself, as if he feared forgetting the name.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, yeah, I totally intend to finish this fic  
> Thanks for reading, cheers <3

The rain did not abate the next day or the day after; It was a cold, torrential rain, it seemed that the sky was in mourning for a lost saint. Or perhaps a new flood had started.

With such weather, Crowley found illogical to go out to work. Gabriel was right, catching the flu or worse would be the worst thing that could happen to him: Sick, without money and alone, with no one to turn to and no one to miss him. He could imagine scenarios where after months the owner of the apartment would get fed up with their tenant avoiding them and, then, they would force the door just to find Crowley's decomposing corpse...

Maybe he was being a bit dramatic.

Rather than occupying his mind with dire futures, he preferred to deal with his anxiety by practicing with his Violin. When he didn't wanted to impress anyone, he usually practiced covering a song that he really liked. Almost always one from Queen.

When he was not practicing with his violin or taking a nap or trying to watch TV (which he was seriously thinking about selling), Crowley would found himself thinking about the last time he saw Gabriel.

It felt strange to refer to him by his name now that he knew it, as if it gave them some kind of closeness. He was almost ashamed to think like that; so, sometimes, he just tried to refer to him again as Rich Guy, so rich that he went around giving away umbrellas.

From time to time he looked at the umbrella that he had left in a corner near the door. He wasn't going to sell it, he didn't have any more umbrellas after all. He could almost hear his mother scolding him about not having umbrellas or raincoats. He shook his head to get his mother out of his mind before other, much less pleasant memories could come in.

So he went back to Gabriel; thinking about him was better than thinking about his mother or the owner of the apartment. He wondered if he noticed his absence at the station; no, not that, it was obvious that he noticed it, rather he wondered if his absence affected him in any way.

A sigh.

"Loneliness is getting to me," he told himself before getting up to make a coffee that would take the chill off his bones.

Sometimes he thought of getting a pet so at least he wouldn't talk to himself. But if he could barely support himself, the poor animal would starve.

Anyway, Crowley was not an animal person (although he did like snakes). He wrinkled his nose as he watched the water start to boil. Was Gabriel be an animal person?

Surely he was dog person: he could imagine him walking a large breed dog, intimidating and, above all, expensive. Maybe a Borzoi. Or, he could be more like a bird person, maybe he had a bunch of parrots trained to talk and praise him.

He made himself comfortable on his favorite couch (well, his only couch) to savor the steaming, sugary cup of coffee. The more he told himself to stop thinking about him, the more useless it became.

But it just that, as short as it was their interaction, it gave him so much to think about, how it could have been different, what else he could answer and above all, the reasoning behind Gabriel as to give an umbrella to a stranger of so many; he was not the only one without an umbrella. And he was cordial and even patient. Other people might have been offended at his response and left him without an umbrella and money, but Gabriel took it with humor.

He took a sip of his coffee and looked at the window; He hoped that soon it would stop raining, everything in him demanded to go out ... Perhaps and the next day he would be lucky and someone would recognize his talent.

And perhaps Gabriel would speak to him again.

…

Contrary to what Anthony had thought, when he returned to his "work", everything continued just as always. Gabriel would come closer and listen to him, he would leave without saying anything, and in the afternoon he would approach again and just leave like that.

He felt foolish just to think that it would be different in some way.

And felt very frustrated,too. When Gabriel was present, Crowley strived to play not well, but exceptionally, whatever he was playing: a classical piece, a cover, something more modern, a waltz, whatever. But the only faithful spectator of him never changed expression. Did Gabriel even liked music at all?

A week later, when the afternoon train arrived, Crowley was playing to the rhythm of some popular song. Lost in the melody of his vague interpretation of the song, he hadn't noticed the moment Gabriel had approached.

As soon as he noticed it, he tried to polish his interpretation. The abrupt change only made it go a little out of tune. Nothing the average person would notice.

But Gabriel didn't seem like the average person. Actually, there was a reaction, his lip curled a little, at the same time he arched an eyebrow; a critical expression.

But maybe it was a fluke or Crowley's imagination, because his face returned to its usual expressionlessness after a moment. 

Crowley finished the song and to avoid meeting glances with Gabriel, who was still in front of him, he pretended to check the violin and tune it, feeling foolish while doing it. Why avoid glances with anyone? When he looked up, he was already gone.

Crowley finished the song and to avoid meeting glances with Gabriel, who was still in front of him, he pretended to check the violin and tune it, feeling foolish while doing it. Why avoid glances with anyone?  
When he looked up, he was already gone.

He mumbled an insult and hurried to collect the money and put away his violin, if Gabriel did not deign to speak to him again, he would have to do it by himself or else they would get stuck in that weird relationship of strangers who see each other daily and give each other umbrellas and never talk.

"Hey, Gabriel!" He blurted out behind him, it was the first time he'd ever said his name out loud ... Strange.

Gabriel stopped and waited for Crowley to catch up with him. His expression was unreadable from him except for his eyes; his eyes were curious.

"Hey, I ... hi." He should have thought about what to say before running after him. Gabriel didn't respond to the greeting, instead he waited for the redhead to explain himself. "I was wondering if...if you'd like your umbrella back."

A look of disbelief appeared on Gabriel's face: after a week? He shook his head.

"It is not necessary, it's yours."

"Heh ... Thank you," Crowley answered honestly and Gabriel just nodded, but then the redhead added in a more vivacious tone: "And here I thought there were no longer any gentlemen."

That last note was unexpected and made him laugh. A restrained laugh, but a real laugh.

It could have ended there. But Crowley wouldn't let that happen, not after making him laugh.

"I must pay you the favor."

Gabriel returned to his serious face and looked at him carefully.

"You don't have to pay me anything," he replied in the kindest tone he seemed to be able to handle.

"I have to, how about a drink?"

"Wow, a drink, do you think the bartender will accept a check?"

"I invite you, I know a good pub." He looked around; he didn't really know if it was good, he only knew one "... It's Friday, c'mon"

Gabriel let out a laugh and looked at him incredulously.

"Oh, you invite?" He questioned in an incredulous tone and glanced at his violin case.

That hurt. Gabriel knew that his financial position was precarious, honestly it was obvious, but that felt like a mockery ... Especially since he never left him anything. He forced a smile. If he found out he disliked Gabriel, he could at least stop thinking about him.

"Yes, I invite. Do you accept?" Asked, less friendly now.

Once more, Gabriel examined him, looked him up and down. Anthony was sure he was determining the cost of his clothes. He couldn't determine much if that was his intention, Crowley always made an effort to look good.

"No," he replied.

Crowley felt a lump in his throat. He wanted to think that the rejection was not due to his financial status, but rather because he was a stranger to him ... But still ...

"I understand ... well, I gue-"

"I got a better idea," Gabriel interrupted before he continued, "I know a good restaurant. On Fridays they have offers and good wine, what do you think?"

If Gabriel had told Crowley that he was undercover and actually belonged to royalty and was a duke or something, he would have been less surprised. He looked at him almost open-mouthed, perhaps he was making fun of him. Maybe it was sarcasm and he didn't notice. Perhaps it was a practical joke and upon arrival, he would leave Crowley to pay a bill that he could not afford. Perhaps he felt sorry for him and felt superior, so he would invite him in a kind gesture, like the umbrella.

Of all the options, the last one was the one he liked the least.

"That ... sounds good, Gabriel, but I don't have too much in my pocket."

"I'm not taking you to a five-star restaurant," he was quick to explain, "I'll invite you if you want. And if not, that's fine. It's just that I prefer a good dinner to a drink" he shrugged.

Crowley found himself smiling authentically. He nodded, which was enough for Gabriel to start walking.

By the way he walked, Crowley was sure that Gabriel knew the way very well, he wondered if he lived in the city since always, unlike him. Or maybe it was just in his nature. Confident and calm steps, the man next to him had no insecurities and fears in his life, everything was resolved, everything was shaped as he wanted so nothing would go wrong. He didn't need luck, he didn't needed other important people to recognize his qualities. Perfect school, perfect family, perfect job, perfect partner: perfect life.

"You haven't introduced yourself" A deep voice interrupted his thoughts.

"What?"

"I don't know your name"

"Sure" he stopped and held out his hand "Anthony, Anthony Crowley"

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Crowley." Gabriel shook his hand "I guess you remember my name after chasing me in the rain to ask me"

Crowley gave an embarrassed laugh. Said like that, sounded pretty silly.

"Ugh, don't call me 'sir', I'm barely twenty-six. Just call me Crowley"

"I'm twenty-eight," answered his companion in a casual voice."And I've had to get used to being called sir since I was sixteen"

"Well, that happens when you're like a walking wall."

Gabriel laughed at the comment and looked at Crowley.

"You're almost as tall as me,though."

"But I'm less intimidating, that's the difference. You ... you look like you could break anyone's nose"

"Might. If they provoke me" and smiled a bit maliciously.

"If they don't want to accept your checks."

"I could break yours, since you don't want my checks"

"I'm sure you could break more than my nose," he answered jokingly and with a daring look.

Gabriel didn't reply, instead he looked him up and down as if he was trying to understand what the redhead was referring to.

"Yes, I guess so…"

They spoke no more as they walked. It was a quiet, comfortable silence. Crowley was trying once more to guess why Gabriel had invited him at all. But it was an almost impossible task: he was silent, expressionless and closed.

And he seemed very prideful, too. But not excessively so as to border on arrogance. The chin always up, composed and self-assured. Crowley hoped that at some point he would start bragging about his work or something else, but he only found silence.

Once they got to the restaurant, Crowley took a moment to appreciate the place: It was smallish, comfortable, a bit dated, but elegant enough.

And something Crowley could surely afford.

From the way Gabriel immediately made his way to a secluded table in the corner, Crowley was sure that Gabriel frequented the place. He followed him without question and just as he was about to sit down, he noticed how Gabriel frowned, suddenly.

“Is something wrong?” he tried to follow his gaze to find the problem, but found nothing.

"Wait here," he said before leaving.

Of course Crowley ignored his words and followed him, although Gabriel didn't seem to care. They went to a table occupied by a blond man tall, but rather plump. He was looking at the menu with a distracted smile, lost in his own world.

At least until Gabriel showed up.

"Aziraphale?"

The opposite gave a small jump in the chair, when looking up he tried to outline a nervous smile. He put down the menu and began to play with his fingers.

"Oh! Gabriel, what… surprise… I didn't think I'd find you here, how are you?" Crowley could tell he was making an effort to speak calmly. He looked at the door as if he expected someone to appear.

"I'm fine" Gabriel clasped his hands behind his back in a professional pose, "you however ... weren't you ill?"

"Oh-oh ... well ... yeah," the blonde man made a pathetic attempt to sneeze, "I'm actually better now."

"You asked for two weeks off."

"Uh ... I ... I-I was cured sooner than I thought," and he chuckled. Gabriel just looked at him seriously.

Crowley just looked at Gabriel and then the blonde, he couldn't help but find the scene amusing.

"Friend of yours?" He decided to intervene with a malicious smile.

"We work together," Gabriel explained dryly.

Azirapahel looked at Crowley and smiled at him.

"Oh! What humility… what Gabriel meant is that he is my boss, actually. A good, good boss, the very best!"

Anthony thought he had just witnessed the worst attempt ever to ingratiate himself with a boss. With a look at Gabriel, he could see that Gabriel thought the same surely ... Or maybe he was trying to remember if there were worse attempts.

"And ... a new business partner, I guess?" Aziraphale tried to divert the conversation. Luckily for him, Gabriel seemed to allow himself to be distracted.

"No. Just a friend" Crowley couldn't help looking at him in surprise. Friend? Did he really mean that? Of course, that was the most courteous and easy thing to say, better than say 'he is a stranger that I see every day who I gave him my umbrella and now I invited him to a restaurant' The funny thing, however, was that the men also seemed surprised. "Anthony Crowley" then waved his hand at the blond "Aziraphale Fell"

"A pleasure." Azira shook a sweaty hand with the redhead.

"The pleasure is mine." Anthony showed his most charming smile; he liked him.

"Well, I-... I-I'll go. I hope you have a splendid evening" said as he finished one of the glasses of wine that were on the table with a gulp.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. It didn't make much sense of leaving after he'd already been caught up in the lie. Why bother leaving? He looked at Gabriel, it's not like he seemed to care that much, rather he seemed distracted.

"Take care" Gabriel replied. Crowley couldn't tell if he said it out of courtesy or not.

The anxious men waved a hand in farewell and haphazardly left the restaurant. Once he left, they both went back to business.

"Looks like you screwed up his date," Crowley commented amusedly as he flipped through the menu.

“Date?” Gabriel raised an eyebrow.

"There were two glasses of wine served." And he seemed to be waiting for someone to order.

Gabriel raised his eyebrows at the realization. But then he returned to his normal state.

"Oh ..." he shrugged. "It's not my fault he picked my favorite restaurant."

"Is this your favorite?" He looked around and then at him. "It seems a bit ordinary, if you ask me ... Common."

"It has little details that make it different, actually."

"Like what?"

"You wouldn't understand"

Crowley preferred not to insist more on it, it wasn't interesting anyway. They didn't speak again until after they had ordered food and a wine to go with it.

"So… In what type of work are Aziraphale and his good, good, the very best boss involved?" He questioned in a mocking tone.

Gabriel made a face, as if he wanted to avoid the subject, but he responded, at least halfway.

"Aziraphale is an editor, an editor-in-chief, in fact."

"So…"

"Corrects and edits manuscripts with potential and supervises, or at least should, other editors"

"Oh ..." he took a moment to process. "You are, what, writer, then?" Literary agent?

Gabriel smiled at him wryly, it was almost a sad smile.

"Not really. Only the owner of the publisher"

Anthony's eyes widened in surprise, he almost took off his sunglasses. Gabriel only rested his chin on his right hand.

"How? 'Only the owner?' ... The entire publisher? You handle all of that?" If Crowley weren't so attentive, he would have missed the slight change in Gabriel's expression, what kind of person was uncomfortable talking about a job like that? "So if I send you a book , would you publish it and that's it?"

"If it meets the quality requirements," he replied, this time with a slightly more cheerful expression. "We have a bit of a reputation for our quality standards"

"Wow ... imagine what you could do with that ..." Gabriel raised an eyebrow in doubt. Crowley took a couple of minutes to think about it and to be honest, he couldn't come up with anything extraordinary or exciting "well, I guess you already have. I'm not a lot of books, you know? My thing is music"

"I had already guessed that."

"Yeah, but not just 'classical' music, don't think I only have a taste for old violins and songs from hundreds of years ago ... I used to have a large collection of records and albums"

"You used to?"

"Yes ... they are no longer in my possession, they stayed in my old house" he scratched his head carelessly. "... With my parents."

Gabriel didn't even ask the question, just looked at him curiously and took a bite of his food while Crowley began to explain the situation to him. It seemed like years since he had been able to vent to anything or anyone, as if he hadn't spoken for an eternity. Gabriel just listened, that's the only thing Crowley wanted at that moment.

He talked about how he had moved so he could study at a good music school in the city. How hid calculations went wrong very soon and how a part-time job while he was studying wasn't enough.

Then he was fired and needed to look for other jobs really fast, as the time for studies began to be less and less until he had to abandon them.

Something temporary, he had told himself, only while he managed to steady himself.

He talked about how he had almost given up hope of going back to school and how asking his parents for money was out of the question (although he never explained why, that seemed to be the only topic he avoided).

He even talked of that feeling of not having control of his life, but of being at the mercy of luck.

Somehow, Crowley ended up exposing a good chunk of his life without regrets or pauses, even gracefully. By the time a waiter took the dishes and left the bill in his place, Crowley was talking about how he had managed to evade the rent several times.

And he kept talking, talking and talking while Gabriel asked for more water. The evening was getting longer.

Nothing he said would be something Gabriel could understand, or so Crowley thought. Gabriel would never have to depend on luck for dinner, nor would he be ignored nor would he have to abandon his ambitions because he was short of money ... None of that would understand, his life was better in every way. But at least there he was, listening to it.

Eventually Crowley felt his throat tired and that was when he decided to look at the clock on the wall. He wondered how Gabriel did not interrupt him out of courtesy or because he was really interested in hearing him.

Surely the first.

They got up, Gabriel paid for the food and Crowley paid for the wine. Once outside, they stared at each other in silence for a moment.

"It was… nice," Crowley spoke first, as always.

"It was." Gabriel offered him a smile and shook his hand in goodbye. "See you, take care."

"Goodbye"

A bit too formal goodbye according to Crowley. After all, he had talked to him about his life and problems as if he had known Gabriel all his life ... Then he realized: The only thing he knew about Gabriel was his name, his job and that he liked a second-rate restaurant.

He wrinkled his nose, that still couldn't be considered friendship, could it? And what was worse: he didn't seem like a bad person ... On the contrary; he enjoyed his company. He rolled his eyes, if Gabriel disliked him, things would be easier, of that he was sure.

...

If Anthony expected that "date" to change something, he seemed to have been wrong.  
The following week passed the same as always: Two strangers who met in a random train station in the morning and in the afternoon every day. Like they don't even know their names.

Gabriel was inexpressive as always, whenever he came over to listen to his music, if Crowley had to guess, he would say that Gabriel didn't even like music, he just put up with it bored, or maybe he would say it wasn't even there, his mind it seemed elsewhere.

But it was better to think that he liked music, or at least what Crowley played and that was why he always approached. Someday he would feel confident enough to ask him. Someday. But meanwhile, everything seemed to remain the same.

At least until a warm afternoon in May. Almost a month after the "incident" with the umbrella.

That day Gabriel had not come in the morning. Crowley had a strange sensation, a little weight on his chest ... It wasn't concern, no, but something like that. The weight vanished when Gabriel appeared at the station in the afternoon ... Not in a suit like the ones he wore to work, but just as elegant. He was also wearing a lavender scarf. Perhaps in Gabriel's mind that was a casual thing to wear.

Gabriel definitely lived in another world.

All rich people lived in another world, of that he was sure.

As always, he approached Crowley, but he didn't seem to have any intention of stopping to listen to him. He was carrying two glasses of coffee in his hands that he surely had bought at the cafeteria that Crowley used to go to for lunch.

"Do you have a minute?" He questioned him with a polite smile offering him a coffee.

More than a minute, all day and night, if he asked.

"I still prefer money, thanks," he replied as he lowered the violin to accommodate it in its case to accept the coffee, also smiling. "Day off from work?"

Gabriel just nodded and hid his free hand in a pocket.

"So ... you want to visit the restaurant from before?" Or maybe show me a new place, and ...

He was cut off before he could continue, Gabriel got straight to the point:

"I have a proposal for you."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I really appreciate it <3


End file.
